


A Shoe on Your Head

by Narusteph



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Curtis Showered, Dubious Consent??? ish, F/M, Filthy Curtis, Not A Happy Ending, Train Rebellion, Upper Class Reader, You liked it, but don't worry, but there will be smut, kinda violent, not really fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narusteph/pseuds/Narusteph
Summary: You are an upper-class passenger on the Snowpiercer. Curtis and his gang come blasting through while you are enjoying a day at the spa. Now you are in the middle of a violent takeover and Curtis can't take his eyes off you. Gilliam was right; it is so much better holding a woman with two arms.Basically, Curtis fucks you in different parts of the train while they fight their way to the front.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love Curtis. I love his dirty dick and his blue eyes and his fucking beard and his beanie. 
> 
> So that's where this came from. Although I let Curtis take a shower so his dick ain't that dirty no more.
> 
> I feel like I took a lot of liberties with this one. Obviously, the plot will be slightly different from the movie. But the layout of the train and shit like that, I kind of just went with it. I feel like there are quite a few repeating cars on the train (like more than one spa car interspersed everywhere). And I have no idea how the upper-class slept, or if they had private bathrooms or whatever. But if I were designing the train then they would. 
> 
> Who cares, it's smut. It's not supposed to make sense.

When you woke that morning, you had to lay in bed for a few seconds before rising. It was another boring day on the Snowpiercer. Or so you assumed. Why should today be any different? 

After you showered and had your breakfast, you decided to spend the day in the spa cart, trying to block out the droning conversation of your fellow upper class passengers, looking out the window as the frozen world sped by. 

As your feet are being scrubbed, you try to think back to the time before the train. You have vague recollections of hot days, sunlight, grass. But most of your childhood memories involve one or both of your parents, who unfortunately died shortly after boarding the train, when you were still a teenager. 18 years later and you’re discontentedly comfortable with your predictable but luxurious life inside humanity’s last hope. Unbeknownst to you, that life is about to change drastically.

Yet you remain ignorant as you tie a robe around you and move to the sauna cart, which is thankfully empty, saving you from the inane chatter of your neighbors. Thick metal walls blocked out their talking completely and you focus on the perpetual humming of the train as it barrels down the tracks.

You don’t know how much time passes between the moment you entered the sauna cart and the moment its doors were wrenched open, but it must have been quite some time as your skin was moist and your fingertips wrinkled. But that doesn’t matter since you don’t really have time to think about your current state as you raise your head to see the most terrifying and unexpected sight of your life, on or off this damn train.

A group of ragged, dirty savages have forced open the door to the cart and are making their way inside. You instinctively hold your towel closer to your body and move to the side, trying to squeeze yourself into a corner to avoid being seen.

But it is too late, and anyway there is nowhere to hide in this cart or in this entire train for that matter. 

One man steps forward, bigger and taller than the rest of his outfit. His face is caked with dirt, hair cut short to his scalp under a black and crusted beanie. His appearance is the definition of the word ‘haggard,’ but it’s his eyes that set him apart. They are bright blue and seem to shine in the dim light of the cart. They pierce through the thick steam of the sauna, the train and finally rest on you cowering in your wooden seat. 

He takes a step forward and grabs your arm with more strength than you have ever felt and a new wave of fear surges through you. As you are about to scream you catch a glimpse of the open doors the group had come from. There are unmistakable streaks of bright red blood coloring the walls and windows of the cart. From your position - held up almost entirely by the man’s force - you can just see the bloody and limp body of Ms. Singer, the lady who just moments ago was chatting your ear off as you had your pedicures done.

The sight is enough to stop the scream in your throat. You look back at the man who must be responsible. It almost hurts to look directly into his cold eyes, unwavering as they appraise you.

“Should we kill this one too, boss?” a young shirtless man beside the ‘boss’ says. He is just as under kept and malnourished as the others, but his sinewy body betrays fierce capability.

As the ‘boss’ parts his full lips to answer you speak first, “No! Please! I don’t know what’s going on but please don’t kill me! What good will that do?” you use a desperate attempt to reason with them.

“What good will you do alive?” the boss responds coldly and shoves you down into your seat, letting go of you. You cradle your hurt arm, probably bruised from his grasp and watch as his team walk around the sauna, pulling back wooden doors and throwing around clean white towels.

A woman comes to sit beside you, her clothes mere rags and her face tired. “You one of them higher ups?” she asks without turning her head to face you.

“I – I suppose so,” you stumble out. 

Your parents, before they died, were good friends of Wilford; your father was an engineer that helped designed the train in the years leading up to the freeze and your mother was supposedly a relative of Wilford himself. When they died, it was this fact alone, their connection with the sacred Wilford, that kept you in finery for the rest of your life. Although you have no memory of meeting the man behind the engine, it was known throughout the upper carts of the train that you were to be looked after closely at his request. 

“How high?” the boss turns to you and you freeze. When you don’t answer, he turns to a nervous man behind him who is wiping his face with a clean towel. “Namgoong.” He says only his name and the man removes his face from the towel for just enough time to take a glance at you.

He speaks in a language you don’t understand, but a mechanical voice follows after, translating loud enough for you to hear. “A favorite of Wilford. She is well-known in the higher carts.”

The boss nods but never takes his eyes of you. “Then we keep her for now. Leverage, until we can get further in front.”

By now the team is done ransacking the cart and they all look to the boss uneasily. 

“What now, boss?” the same shirtless man asks.

Boss sighs. “We can spare some time, I think. The last takeover was pretty smooth. Namgoong, when you’re done with whatever the hell you’re doing inspect the next door. The rest of you take a break. And Grey, stop calling me boss.”

“Sorry, Curtis,” Grey says and moves to other end of the cart impatiently while the rest sit.

Curtis remains standing, looming over the rest with subconscious authority. His eyes remained glued to you, but not just to your face. To your entire body. He looks you up and down and you feel even more exposed than earlier in your soft towel that does little more than cover your essentials.

“Do you have other clothes?” he asks.

It takes you a moment to answer; your throat seems to have clenched shut. “Not here,” you manage to say. Your room is further in front, but you liked to use the spa in the lower carts because of the windows. Great decision, Y/N.

He makes an annoyed sound and if you weren’t so scared right now you’d be offended. “Do you have a name?”

You sit up a bit straighter to reply, “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he says and the thick gravel of his voice warps you name so that it is almost unrecognizable to you. “We are the rebellion from the tail end of the train. We are going to the front and we are going to take the engine. You will be our hostage for the time being.”

“Hostage?” 

“Do you know what that word means?”

You nod. Well. At least it’s better than ‘victim.’

 

By the time Namgoong has figured out how to open the next door, the gang has made a more concrete decision about how to handle you. You’ll be kept near the back of the group, not at the very end but hopefully far enough from any opposition approaching. They decide to keep you alive for as long as possible, which you have to admit is pretty nice for a group of bloodthirsty savages rebelling against the order of the train.

Nevertheless, you position at the back of the group doesn’t protect you from the screams and other brutal sounds of a hostile takeover. They make it through two more carts – with you closing your eyes and walking forwards blindly as you step over the bodies – when you speak up. “This is my cart.” You have to repeat it a few times before someone hears and relays the message to the front.

Curtis makes his way back to stand right in front of you. His face and clothes are covered with splatters of blood and there is a gash on his left cheekbone. He stares you down expectantly.

“I can get some clothes here.” He says nothing. “So that I won’t have to walk the rest of the train in a towel.” Still silent. You are at a loss. Didn’t he want you to get dressed? You take in his imposing figure once more, forcing yourself to stare into his eyes. You admit to yourself, in some disturbed part of your brain, that if this man didn’t have your life in his dirty hands he might actually be quite handsome. 

“I can also lend you some clothes.” He blinks. “If you like… They’re men’s clothes. They were my fathers…” You feel hopeless looking to his eyes, surrounded by the serious gaze of his crew.

“Take me,” he says finally and you release a breath quietly. You nod and make to step around him, but he takes your wrist. You pause in your step but he is not as forceful as before and you realize he is just keeping a hold of you to make sure you don’t run off. But honestly where are you going to go?

You guide him to your room and you hear him slide the door behind you. A primal fear grips you, and another stranger feeling makes its home in the pit of your stomach. Besides the maid, you have never had another person in your room, let alone a man. A dangerous man at that.

You make your way to your giant closet, and push through your outfits to pull out some old pants and shirts that have not seen light (artificial or otherwise) in ages. You hand them to him and notice that his hands leave a stain on the collar.

With hesitation you gesture to the door beside the closet. “There’s a shower, if you’d like.”

The expression on his face catches you completely off guard. For a moment, his hard demeanor drops and his expression is confused but awed. “A shower. With running water.”

You nod. “Hot water too. You have those in the tail end, don’t you?”

At that, his face hardens again and he goes into the bathroom, slamming the door. Some seconds later you hear the water. You stand alone in your room in a complete state of disbelief. For the first time in hours you take a deep breath. 

There was nowhere to run because his tail end buddies were no doubt standing right outside your door. No one to call because you were without a phone and you seriously doubted they would let you see another living upper class member. Rather than think about your situation you dress quickly, hoping to get into something more modest before Curtis comes out of the bathroom. 

You needn’t have rushed because 10 minutes later the water is still running and you are sitting on your bed trying desperately not to think of the naked man in your shower. Of course it was helpless; the more you tried not to think about it the more your brain made up images of him. You could only imagine what he looked like under those dirty rags he called clothes. Was he as lithe as his friend Grey, or bulkier? He certainly looked it and you wonder if he had been training himself mentally and physically for this takeover.

This takeover of the train. ‘Take the engine’ were his exact words. You did not believe they could make it, but you had no problem accepting that these crazed idiots were going to die trying. You only hope they don’t take you with them.

Finally, the door opens and Curtis steps forward. He is wearing the pants but is shirtless. You stare open-mouthed at his body. He clearly isn’t very well-fed in the tail section; his ribs are visible and his forearms thinner than they seemed in his jacket. But his shoulders are broad and his biceps display a slight bulge. His clean skin is still glistening from the shower and you watch captivated by a drop of water that falls from his pecs to the waist of his pants. That strange feeling is back, this time much stronger and falling lower towards your pelvis.

He notices you watching him and stares you down just as intently. But his gaze is not as punishing as it was in front of his people. Rather it was softer, curious and even a little shy as he took in your soft skin and hair that you had let down. 

“The shirt didn’t fit me,” he says and hands it to you.

You take it and stand to get another but the heat radiating from his body is distracting. “I’ll bet,” you catch yourself saying. “I mean – I-I’ll see if I have something bigger.”

He steps to the side to let you search through your huge closet again. You wish you could shove your red face into the clothes and hide in that wardrobe forever.

“In the bathroom. That was the first time I’ve been in a room by myself for 18 years.”

His words remove any dirty or shameful thoughts from your head and you turn. 

He doesn’t speak again so you ask, “You didn’t have your own room in the tail section?”

He barks out a laugh. “You have no idea what the tail section is like, do you?”

You shake your head.

“We don’t have private rooms. We don’t have bathrooms. We don’t have running water. We don’t have food. And we sure as fuck don’t have saunas!”

His voice escalated with each sentence making you wince. “I’m sorry,” you say lamely.

“You can stop pretending to be sympathetic. Namgoong told me who you are. Your parents helped build this fucking prison and you get to live it up real nice in your damn private quarters.”

You get defensive at the mention of your parents. “I had no idea they were making something like the tail section! We were taught that there was space for every person on the train, that we would all live because of the engine.”

“What we do in the tail section isn’t living, you ignorant little bitch. It’s barely surviving and you’re fucking lucky I don’t send you back there to spend the rest of your miserable life like we have.”

He is in your face by now and you wished that his harsh words scared you more than they thrilled you. Because those feelings were unacceptable.

“Where’s my shirt?” he demands.

You’ve had enough. “Get it your fucking self.” Probably not a good thing to say to your captor, Y/N.

He steps forward, backing you into the bathroom door and takes your arm again. And you have seriously had enough of him touching you like he owns you. “And stop fucking grabbing at me!” You yank your hand back, slamming your elbow on the door. 

He pulls you towards him and crushes you into his chest. Your next coherent thought isn’t a very rational one, but you can’t help noticing that he smells like your soap.

His arms are squeezing around your waist and upper back. The realization that your pressed up to almost every inch of him makes you heat up. You feel the temperature difference between your red cheek and his cool chest. His breathing is fierce from his verbal attack on you.

You look up at him to find his face close to yours. His lust is unmistakable, and your body responds instantly. You take a deep breath that elevates your chest, and it presses into him. His grip tightens and he crashes his lips into yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and your body moves of its own volition; stepping closer into him, hands resting on his chest but not pushing him away. Never. You wanted him impossibly closer. 

His hand lowers to your ass, gripping tightly and you whimper against his mouth. He growls in response and bites your lip. Your hips roll into his and his buck back at you. His mouth trails down your jaw, your nails dig into his chest. 

Every action of yours is reciprocated in kind by one of his. It’s almost a dance. And you have never felt this way before. It is almost too much to handle. And at the same time, never enough.

You can’t say how much time has passed but by the time there is a loud knock on your door, Curtis’ hand is up your shirt kneading your breasts. You are mouthing at his neck, sucking marks on him. You were in the middle of deliberating whether you should jump and wrap your legs around his waist, or just turn into jelly and melt in his arms.

“Curtis! We’ve gotta go! They’re moving!” A loud male voice yells behind the door. You think it might be Grey’s, but your head is swimming. When Curtis pulls away and looks into your eyes you remember what is really going on here.

He’s the leader of a fucking revolution against the order of the train, he’s a murderer and you are his hostage.

Also, his erection is pressing up against your hip and you’re practically dripping on his thigh. 

What a world.

He steps back, removing his hand from under your shirt. You almost fall forward but he keeps a hold on your arm. 

“I need a shirt,” he says, and if his bulge weren’t still visible through his borrowed pants you would say he was completely unfazed by the whole event.

You rush to your closet, pulling out three shirts at once and toss them to him. He takes the first one and slips it over himself. It is an almost perfect fit but you don’t have the time to admire him as you rush to put on some shoes. You’d stepped in a lot of blood on the way here.

Curtis pops back into the bathroom and comes out with his dark crusted beanie. He shoves it in his pocket, takes you by the wrist again and walks you both out the door. Back into the battlefield.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I haven't actually written the next part yet. But I think the next time you and Curtis get to be 'alone' (probably not literally but you know what I mean) there will be a bit more action. This was just foreplay. You know you had to put up a fight at first.


End file.
